Chapter 3: Hunting × Intercepted × Grudge Formed
After packing up his sleeping bag, Alistair slung his backpack over his shoulders and began making his way down the mountain.
"Nice. No training today. Guess there are perks to the old man being gone. I rule this mountain now."
His daily routine usually included 50 kilometers of running, 1,000 push-ups, and rock climbing with 40 kilograms of weights—non-negotiable.
While not difficult for him anymore, it ate up all his free time and left little room for play.
On top of that, Kite made him read, especially about new species he'd discovered.
Alistair had little interest in most of it—except for bizarre plants. He was obsessed with flipping through a thick plant encyclopedia.
Once, he ground up an unknown plant into powder and sneakily added it to Kite's food just to test its effects.
That explosive diarrhea incident nearly dehydrated his dear master.
Sure, he got beaten half to death for it, but it wasn't all bad—since then, Alistair had gotten into the habit of taking notes. Anytime he found a new plant, he documented it meticulously.
Though when it came to studying medicinal effects, all he could do was experiment on small animals.
By noon, his stomach was already growling.
He spat out the bitter wild grass he'd been chewing.
With a light leap, he perched atop a tree and began searching for lunch.
After darting through the woods for a bit, he heard a few faint "coo-coo" calls.
Peeking through the leaves, he spotted a Jungle Featherpheasant strolling casually through the grass, foraging.
Though small, Jungle Featherpheasants were incredibly agile and unique to the Hunter world—looking somewhat like wild mountain pheasants from Blue Star.
These birds usually foraged at dawn or dusk and spent most of the day hiding in the trees or underbrush.
"This poor guy must be starving if it's out during noon. Sorry, pal."
Alistair pulled a small knife from his backpack and was about to strike—
Thwip!
Before the bird could react, an arrow pierced its skull.
Alistair turned his head. About 50 meters away, a figure was walking toward the bird's corpse.
"Tch. Beat me to it."
Alistair cursed inwardly, instantly on guard.
For someone to land such a precise shot without him noticing? This guy wasn't ordinary.
This might actually be fun.
Alistair dropped from the tree and landed directly in the archer's path.
The figure was a young teen with a clean, handsome face. He wore a loose-fitting pink hat from which vibrant orange-pink hair spilled out, covering his ears. His pale, fitted clothes were topped with a dark red vest. He held a bow in one hand, a quiver slung across his back.
"Hey! That Featherpheasant was my target." Alistair suddenly appeared, pointing his thumb arrogantly over his shoulder.
The teen froze in surprise, looking baffled. "Huh?"
"You deaf or something?" Alistair frowned, clearly annoyed.
The teen finally snapped out of it and argued back, "I shot it! How is it yours?"
Having lived in the Hunter world for years, Alistair had noticed one thing: most people here liked to reason things out.
Like this kid—despite clearly being the one who landed the kill, he was still trying to debate ownership.
Alistair casually dug in his ear. "I saw it first from the tree. I was just about to strike when you sniped it. You owe me compensation."
"Why should I believe you saw it first?" the teen's face flushed red.
Alistair smirked. "Because I was closer."
The teen frowned. "That doesn't prove anything! I hit it. It's mine."
Alistair suddenly changed tack and asked, "Are you a licensed Hunter?"
"No, why?" the teen asked, confused.
Alistair blinked—and then his face turned pale in an instant. He stumbled back two steps, eyes wide with fear.
The teen panicked. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"
Alistair fell to the ground, pointing behind him, trembling. "B-because behind you… there's a Shadowfang Beast!"
The teen whirled around in panic, drawing his bow in one smooth motion.
Silence.
Not even a rabbit behind him, let alone a Shadowfang Beast.
While the teen was distracted, Alistair shot forward like lightning, snatching up the dead pheasant and retreating a safe distance, proudly waving it.
"Such a generous welcome gift. Thanks, bro!"
He knew full well: within five steps, fists beat arrows. But beyond ten steps, arrows had the advantage.
They were about ten meters apart. If they'd fought head-on, he'd have lost.
So instead, he went with the smarter route—trick and steal from the thirteen-year-old rookie.
Realizing he'd been played by a brat, the orange-haired teen grew furious. He quickly nocked another arrow and aimed at Alistair fleeing through the grass.
He didn't want to hurt him, though, so he held back on the power.
That hesitation gave Alistair just enough time to dodge. The arrow missed him, but sliced a long tear through the newly mended jacket Kite had just fixed.
Alistair glanced down at the bird in his hand.
The flash of anger quickly faded—hunger always won.
"I'm out! Enjoy your walk, pal!"
With a taunting grin, he vanished into the underbrush.
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"Ahh... I'm stuffed."
Birdsong filled the air. Sunlight warmed his skin. Alistair lay back lazily in the grass, eyes half-closed. All that remained nearby were feathers and bones.
After a short rest, he sat up and glanced at the ripped jacket.
"Time to head to town."
Kite wouldn't return for three months. If he didn't fix this now, the tear would just get worse.
He didn't know how to sew, so a tailor was a must.
The moment he stepped out of the forest, Alistair felt like he'd been transported from wilderness to civilization.
He still had some distance to Elgardo Town, but the path was bustling—carts passed by, hunters returned from expeditions, and people traveled in and out. The air was alive.
Chewing a wild fruit, Alistair strolled through the lively market, looking for a tailor.
Suddenly, a familiar silhouette caught his eye.
—The pink hat. The orange hair.
"Tch. Of course. What rotten luck," Alistair muttered.
The orange-haired teen stood with his back to him, absorbed in picking fruit at a market stall.
Alistair's eyes flicked to the tear in his jacket. Even though he'd conned and stolen the guy's catch, the teen had ruined his clothes in return. It still annoyed him.
Tossing the fruit pit to the ground, Alistair quietly crept closer.
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